The Cocksucker's Compendium
by grabthefish
Summary: A series of interconnected stories describing all the times wherein Shawn and Lassie have sucked cock.


**The First Suck Is The Deepest**

The first time Shawn sucked Carlton's cock was on a dare.

They were at the SBPD Christmas party, Carlton having been dragged there by his partner after planning on ignoring direct orders from the Chief, confused as to how his presence would matter and frustrated by his inability to escape early. Carlton was two drinks deep – both doubles to make up for the fact that he was there at all – when Spencer practically pounced on him, a sprig of mistletoe in hand.

He'd dangled it over Carlton's head and Carlton had glared, knowing what it meant but ignoring it anyway. Growing bolder with every cup of nog imbibed, the psychic had been hitting on him all night - moreso than usual - and Carlton was finding it harder and harder to control himself.

Quite literally.

"C'mon, Lassifrass. Just a little peck on the cheek. You know you wanna…" the psychic had begged/taunted/pleaded, his voice somehow housing the emotion of all three, eyes shining bright as he spoke. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, pointing at his face with a finger. "I won't tell anyone. Promise."

"We're in a hall full of officers, Spencer. You wouldn't _have_ to tell everyone. They'd all be able to see," Carlton responded, trying to shoo him away. He hadn't wanted to be there, and this was a large part of the reason why. It was already tough enough dealing with his growing feelings for the man who groped him almost every time they interacted – he didn't want to have to try to cope while they were liquored and surrounded by colleagues, too.

The psychic pouted, and Carlton closed his eyes and sighed, the image somehow both irritating and erotic at the same time.

"But, Lassie…" Spencer started, running his finger along Carlton's arm, the digit leaving a tingly feeling where it touched the flesh uncovered by the cop's rolled-up sleeve. Carlton suppressed a shiver, his eyes flashing open at the sensation to see the psychic's bottom lip quiver. Finding it almost unbearable, he moved to push past the man, hoping that removing himself from his vicinity would help.

It didn't.

* * *

Shawn found him again half an hour later, and this time attempted to pull a sneak attack.

His reflexes sharp after so many years on the force, Carlton had dodged at the last second and Spencer had stumbled, nearly hitting the table the detective had been leaning against as he watched the party-goers do their thing. But Carlton grabbed him at the last second, catching him by the shoulder and swinging him around, the psychic's momentum sending him flying into Carlton instead. He grabbed at the detective's shirtfront to steady himself, still wobbly on his feet, and Carlton hoped he couldn't feel how hard his heart was beating.

"Hi," Shawn said, and smiled up at him with an adorably lopsided grin.

Carlton looked down and scowled.

"Hi," he replied. "Care to get off me now?"

"I'd love to get you off, Lassie. I've been saying so for years," the psychic replied, reaching up with his hand to run his fingers through the cop's soft salt-and-pepper hair. "You just won't let me. Which is stupid, by the way. You should totally let me."

Carlton blanched, a vision of the psychic on his knees before him flitting through his mind, and he pushed Shawn off, his scowl deepening.

"I said get _off_ me, Spencer. Not get _me_ off. There's a big difference between the two."

Shawn shrugged, years of being rejected by the detective making the comment roll off him as if he'd been Scotch-guarded. "There doesn't hafta be, you know."

Carlton shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, the idea of Spencer getting him off making him hard in a place he really didn't want to be.

"Go away, Spencer," he said, hoping for a Christmas miracle. "Just go away."

Surprisingly, the psychic did.

* * *

Carlton wanted to leave, but every time he tried, someone would drag him back in. He wasn't sure if it was the Chief or O'Hara who had done it, but he was certain someone had convinced his most courageous colleagues to prevent him from leaving. This time it was McNab, who either got braver the drunker he got or was just incredibly stupid; Carlton couldn't tell. The man had been droning on about his wedding plans for nearly twenty minutes now, not taking Lassiter's hint of disinterest, when suddenly, Spencer showed up with Guster in tow.

The mistletoe he'd wielded earlier was poking out of his back pocket, which Carlton only noticed when he stealthily checked out the psychic's ass, quickly catching and chastising himself for the behavior. Instead of harassing Carlton though, this time the cop was deftly ignored, which he was both pleased and mildly annoyed by; the two men distracting the junior detective with talk of comic books and conventions – things Carlton couldn't give a flying fuck about.

He stood there a minute, drink in hand, before realizing he'd been provided the perfect opportunity to escape, his brain saved from leaking out his ears by the fortuitous arrival of the Psych duo. So, he turned, about to make his mad dash out of there when a hand grabbed him by the elbow to prevent his departure. He looked down at it, wondering who had the audacity to manhandle him like that, before following the hand up to the arm up to the face of Shawn Spencer.

Of fucking course.

"You owe me for this, Lassie," the man said, his thumb slowly rubbing the crook of Carlton's elbow. "I saved you."

Carlton just looked at him thickly.

"…from Buzz," Spencer said, waiting a moment for Carlton to catch on. "You looked like you were dying there, man. And Gus can talk comics all night long."

Carlton took a swig, the last of whatever had been in his cup, and Shawn's hand fell away.

"So?" he asked indignantly.

"So, you owe me, Lassie."

Carlton raised his eyebrow. "How do you figure that?"

"You've been miserable all night, Lassiepants. It's obvious that Jules has been sicking people on you to make you stay. I could always let you go back to that, if you'd prefer. I didn't _have_ to save you, you know," the psychic stated plainly. "So, you owe me."

Carlton sighed, knowing he was defeated and that he'd be stuck with the psychic the rest of the evening if he didn't give up and agree.

"Fine, Spencer. What the hell do you want?"

Spencer grinned like the Cheshire Cat, slowly pulling the plant from his back pocket and dangling it above the detective's head yet again. "My kiss, Lassie. Duh."

Carlton rolled his eyes. He should have known.

"Fine, if I give you a peck on the cheek, will you finally leave me alone?" he asked, figuring he could get away with as much and keep his reputation intact. He wouldn't be the first to press his lips to Spencer's face tonight, after all; the man had been wracking up quite a list, both Dobson and O'Hara having already done the same.

"No," the psychic replied, and Carlton blinked, sure he'd misheard.

"No?" he said, looking to clarify. "What do you mean no?"

Spencer shifted, putting the mistletoe away again but keeping his eyes locked on Carlton's as he did.

"I want a real kiss Lassie. None of this peck on the cheek nonsense. I want your mouth on mine and I want it now."

Carlton paled, dropping his red plastic cup in shock.

He sputtered, his head whipping around to see who, if any, had heard.

"Are you fucking crazy, Spencer?" he asked. "No way. Why the hell do you think I'd ever agree to that?"

He'd expected Shawn's face to fall at his answer, but instead the man's smile grew.

"You checked out my ass less than five minutes ago," the psychic said cheekily, and Carlton flushed, knowing he'd been caught. "Your skin turned to gooseflesh when I touched your arm tonight, both times. And you've spent most of the night alone, leaned up against something or other, but you've been tracking me with your sexy blue hawk-eyes the whole time. You don't need to admit you want me, Lassie. Your body is speaking volumes."

Carlton's throat constricted, feeling like sandpaper. Suddenly parched, he wished he still hand a drink in hand. He didn't though, and so lacking a better option, plucked the one out of the psychic's grip and swallowed its contents in one go.

"Fine," he said, surprising himself by his lack of resistance. "But not here. Somewhere that's… else."

Shawn grinned, again bouncing on his toes.

"Fine," he agreed, and went to grab Carlton's hand. Carlton smacked him away, but the psychic wasn't deterred. "I know just the place."

* * *

Spencer led him to a broom closet at the other end of the building.

It was bigger than he expected a broom closet to be, but since the hall they had rented was fairly fancy, he supposed it made sense. Not that it mattered, of course. What mattered was the man standing in front of him and staring, waiting to be kissed.

"Any time now, Lassie. Neither one of us is getting younger, you know. You especially."

Carlton scowled, a look that felt perpetual that evening, and he poked Spencer in the chest as he replied, "You're no spring chicken yourself, you know."

Spencer laughed, a laugh that seemed a little nervous when Carlton stopped to think about it. But what did Spencer have to be nervous about? He was the most brazen son of a bitch Carlton had ever known.

Disrupting his thoughts, Shawn spoke – words Carlton never thought he'd hear.

"I know, Lassie. We're all dying here. And I'm dying for you to kiss me. Have been for forever."

He paused.

"Now would you hurry up and do it already?"

Carlton had pictured this moment more than once before. He always felt guilty about it though, having hidden his sexuality for years and years, only acknowledging it when his life with his ex had ended, then regressing into a state of denial and trying to cover it up by bedding Detective Barry. It was only when the psychic had flounced his way into Carlton's life that he realized he could never go back, much as he may want to.

So yeah, he had pictured Shawn's mouth on his many times before. But never in these circumstances and certainly never in a broom closet.

"Lassie…" Shawn said, the sound both negging and needy, sending a jolt straight to Carlton's cock.

"What, Spencer?" he said, trying to pull himself out of the head-spin he felt himself sliding into.

"When are you gonna -?"

And that's when Carlton made his move, figuring action would shut both his brain and Spencer up.

Shawn's mouth was warm, tasting faintly of the rum he'd been spiking his drink with all night, and Carlton's tongue darted out to lick the dregs from the man's lips, his arms wrapping around the psychic of their own volition. Spencer melted into him, his tongue taking Carlton's as an invitation to duel, and when the kiss deepened, Carlton felt his knees begin to grow weak.

He bit at the shorter man's mouth, considering it punishment for the pout he'd been forced to endure earlier, and Spencer moaned, molding his body into Carlton's like he was trying to meld their flesh together by force. It sent sensations to the very core of him, and his belly twisted, heat building up inside. He couldn't believe how horny Spencer made him, how pliant he was under his hands, how much the man made him want more.

The thought was a splash of cold water to the face, and he pulled away, breathing heavily.

Shawn stumbled, surprised at the loss of the warm body he had been attached to, his eyes carrying obvious disappointment. He wiped his lower lip with his thumb, and Carlton felt himself rock hard, looking down to see Spencer shared the predicament.

"Truth or dare, Lassie."

The cop looked up and blinked.

"What?" he asked, confused at the question that had come out of nowhere.

"Truth or dare, Lassie," the psychic said again, leaning against some shelving and breathing just as heavily, lust sparking in his eyes.

Without thinking, without even understanding why he was answering, he responded, his normally reticent brain having left for the rest of the night.

"Truth. But only if you pick one after."

Spencer chuckled, like it was the answer he'd been hoping for, and he looked the detective up and down, gaze roving gaily.

"Works for me," he said, eyes lingering on Carlton's erection for an uncomfortable amount of time.

Disconcerted, Carlton shifted in place before –

"Spencer?"

"Huh – yeah. What?" Spencer said, snapping out of his reverie. "Right. My question."

"Yes," Carlton said, a faint blush on his face. "Your question."

"How much did you like that kiss and how much do you want to do it again?" the psychic asked, happily full of himself.

Carlton's pulse was still racing. He knew it was a kiss he would keep in his memory banks for quite some time – forever, maybe – and that he wanted to do it again both badly and immediately. But he also knew it wasn't a good idea, all the reasons he'd had for not doing it in the first place suddenly rushing back to him.

"That's two questions, Spencer," he said, stalling, trying to find a way to avoid having to answer.

"Dammit. You're right," Shawn said, and stopped a second to think before coming up with a fix. "Okay, so my two questions for the price of your one dare? Answer truthfully and I'll do anything you want, no arguing involved."

Anything could mean _anything_ Carlton realized. And _anything_ gave him control over the man he'd been desperate for for years. He could make Spencer do something stupid to embarrass himself in front of the whole precinct. He could make him admit he was a liar and a fake, knowing there was no way he was psychic but would never admit as much otherwise. Or he could –

"Anything, Spencer?"

Spencer nodded.

"I'll do the Lindy Hop butt-naked down the street if you want, so long as you promise to bail me out when one of your cop-buddies inevitably arrests me. Now how much?"

Carlton grinned, and Shawn grinned back, sure he knew the answer. Which he did but didn't need to be a clairvoyant to figure out, the tent in Lassiter's pants speaking plainly.

"I liked it a lot, Spencer. And even though I should have my brain checked for it, I definitely want to do it again."

"Awesome," Shawn breathed, and took a step forward and reached out, clearly ready to lock lips a second time.

"Ah-ah-ah, Spencer," Carlton said, side-stepping the man's grasp. "You have a dare to complete."

"I do? Are you sure?" the psychic replied, looking like he was questioning his sanity at agreeing to _anything_ now that he had his answer. "Can't I kiss you again, first?"

"You could," the detective drawled, a sparkle of mischievousness in his own eyes. "Or, I could do you one better and promise that you can kiss me again after, if you do a good enough job."

That stopped him in his tracks, and the psychic scratched his head, mock-considering.

"Promise, you say?"

"That I do," Carlton said matter-of-factly. "But _only_ if you do a good enough job."

Shawn breathed – more a sigh than anything – and considered for real, a question in his eyes.

"You make it sound like you're gonna make me clean your boots with my tongue or something, Lassie."

Carlton laughed at that and remembered to file it away for later. He'd always wondered what getting his boots licked would be like, but now was not the time. Not when there was something much more pressing to be licked.

"Not quite, Spencer. Though, maybe you are a little bit psychic after all," he said, smug and mocking.

"Well, yeah, Lass. Clearly," Shawn replied, motioning at his head with his hand like it meant something Carlton would believe. "But, um… why do you say that?" he asked, suddenly a little nervous.

Carlton smiled lasciviously.

"Because if you do it right, you'll definitely be using your tongue, Spencer."

"I will?" the psychic said, blinking innocently.

"You will. Because I dare you to suck my cock."

* * *

Spencer hadn't even said anything. A grin split across his face like lightning striking the night and he dropped to his knees without a sound, instantly reaching for Carlton's belt buckle. Carlton just stared, surprised at both the lack of resistance and speed with which Spencer held him in hand, his thumb circling the head of Carlton's cock before skirting down his shaft to make the detective feel all a-flutter.

He felt his testicles tighten at the touch – a touch he'd been craving since the first time Spencer had thrown himself in his lap – and the psychic reached out to caress them with his other hand, rolling them gently as he leaned forward and pressed a feather-light kiss at Carlton's tip before sliding his tongue beneath the detective's foreskin.

Carlton's knees nearly buckled right there and then, and he gripped the metal shelf beside him to steady himself, watching in amazement as Shawn began to lick, sucking gently at the extra flesh as he slowly peeled it back to expose the crown. His mouth moved lightly at first, then intently, increasing in intensity as he followed the path his fingers had taken until he was lapping at Lassiter's balls.

It was the most erotic thing the cop had even seen, his cock resting on Spencer's face as the man gazed up at him, mouth moving magnificently against his sack; without even realizing he was going to do it, Carlton thrust his hands through Shawn's perfect hair, pulling him to his feet to kiss him, his tongue sliding effortlessly into the other man's mouth.

Spencer clutched at him, hands slipping beneath Carlton's shirt to wrap around his waist, bare skin touching bare skin sending the detective through the stratosphere. He bit at the psychic's lip again, their teeth clashing as they dove into each other, neither caring about technique when both had been smashed upside the head by lust. When Spencer's hand reached down to stroke him, Carlton's cock still freely bobbing between the man's jean-clad legs, the cop made a sound he'd never made before.

"A whimper, Lassie? Really?" Spencer said, mouth pressed against his. "Can't say I –"

"Shut up, Spencer," he growled, making up for the lack of manliness in spades, his hips bucking with the movements of the hand beneath him. "The only thing your mouth should be doing right now is sucking."

Shawn chuckled, pulling away just a bit, one hand maneuvering, the other on the cop's ass.

"Gee, Lassie. Tell me what you want, what you really, really want."

"Oh, I'll tell you want I want –" he started, before the psychic interrupted, still laughing.

"What you really, really want?"

Carlton pushed his hand back through Spencer's hair, gripping it tight and angling the other man's head, at which the psychic's mouth shut, the man mewling like a kitten. Carlton made a mental note to remember that Spencer seemed to like a touch of pain with his pleasure, as if he'd one day get to do this again, before responding –

"Yes, Spencer. What I really, really want."

"What's that, Lassie?" Shawn breathed, his words ghosting across Carlton's lips like they were gentle kisses.

"I want my dick tickling your goddamn tonsils right now."

He saw Spencer swallow and the man shuddered, his eyes closing but for a moment as he accepted the suggestion.

Carlton loosened his grip just a little, guiding the psychic by the back of his head until he again hit the floor, his legs splayed beneath him as he leaned forward to envelope Carlton in his hot, wet mouth. Spencer's lips wrapped around him and the man moved his tongue, licking and suckling gleefully. While it felt good – better than good - it wasn't what Carlton wanted, and so he said so, wishing he could savor the moment but knowing their disappearance would be noted if they took much more time.

"Don't fucking tease me, Spencer. You've been a little cock-tease long enough. I want my dick so far down your throat you'll be tasting me for days."

Spencer looked up at him at that, his eyes crinkling with mirth, and he somehow managed to smile around Carlton's girth.

He pulled away to agree.

"Ay ay, Capta-"

Carlton interrupted, his hand moving Spencer's head forward again until he was completely ensconced in psychic. "Don't talk, Spencer. Just suck."

And suck he did, so intently he put Hoover to shame.

Carlton was glad he had kept his grip, the skill with which he was getting blown proving that Spencer had done this before. Possibly even many times before. He shook his head at the thought, not wanting to picture the man on his knees for anybody else, a streak of jealousy running through him unexpectedly. This was _his_ psychic, goddammit, and if he had to put up with Spencer's mouth over the years like he had, only _he_ should get reciprocation this way.

He didn't know where the possessiveness had come from, not usually a problem of his, and kind of uncomfortable with it, he clenched. But the feeling didn't last long when he had other, more wonderful feelings distracting him. Like the pressure of Spencer's mouth and the texture of his tongue and the sensation of its warmth as it moved slow, slower, excruciatingly slowly down his shaft, applying gentle suction as it did. The man's hand rested at the base of him, stroking what flesh he hadn't yet devoured, and Carlton felt pressure begin to build; knowing it wouldn't be long before Shawn finished him off, he hoped to God he'd get to see the man take the whole length of him, his face pressed into Carlton's pubic hair.

It was in that moment that Spencer did exactly that, deep-throating the detective easily, his uvula tickling the tip of the cop's dick as it brushed past. When he looked up at Carlton again, his face flush with the cop's pelvis, Carlton nearly came just from the look in Spencer's eyes alone. He bucked, and Shawn's throat constricted, his gag reflex threatening and failing to kick in. Carlton couldn't remember when he'd ever felt so good, or why he'd taken do long to do this, the chemistry between them obvious from the start.

Eyes glossing over, he moaned when Shawn tried to say something, the vibrations from his throat driving the Irishman mad. Sliding himself free, he wondered what the statement could have possibly been.

"Yes, Spencer? You have something to say?" he asked, only partially caring.

Shawn licked his lips, panting slightly.

"Fuck, Lassie. That's so fucking hot. I wish you had've let me taste you a long time ago."

Carlton smiled a self-satisfied smile. "You do, do you?"

Shawn smiled back, his hand gently stroking the length of Carlton's leg.

"Yeah, Lassie. Thought that was pretty freakin' obvious."

And it was. And had been. But Carlton had been too stupid – too scared – to do anything about it. He also knew that when daylight came, he'd probably revert back to form, his sensibilities kicking in once his liquor-soused brain saw dawn and began obsessing over potential repercussions. But for now, they had tonight, or at least what was left of it.

"Guess you should make up for lost time then, shouldn't you?" he said, holding his cock out for the psychic to take, which once again, Spencer happily did.

But this time was different. It was like the psychic knew he'd wished it too, that he wished there could be something more - something deeper - and instead of going savage like he'd expected, Spencer went the other direction, moving sensually instead.

His tongue circled one way, then the other, one hand back on Carlton's balls as he kneaded and massaged, the other on his ass to steady and squeeze. He popped the crown of the detective's cock into his mouth, then out, applying suction as he did, his tongue slipping and sliding in ways Carlton was starting to assume was magic, this quickly turning into the best blowjob of his life.

He gritted his teeth, wanting to make the moment last forever, never even realizing he could feel this good. He wanted to face-fuck Spencer right then and there, just pound into him on the cold concrete floor, and for a fraction of a second, wondered what the man's knees were going to be like tomorrow before realizing that right now he couldn't care. He looked down at Shawn and Shawn smiled up at him, mischievousness written all over his face as the psychic slid himself free again. But instead of saying something, he ran his lips down the length of Carlton, mouth slightly open as he hummed.

The detective's fingers fisted in the man's hair and he moaned when the hand left his testicles to wrap around him again instead, twisting and stroking where his dick joined the rest of his body as Shawn's mouth maneuvered. When he got to where his hand was, Spencer stopped a second, looking like he was lost in thought, then pressed a kiss to the mole on the detective's left hipbone instead.

"Lassie," he said, arching his head to look the detective straight in the face. "Do you trust me?"

Carlton froze, not sure he did. Or at least, not sure he did enough to allow the psychic to do whatever he was about to ask to do.

The thought must have been written on his face because Spencer's became crestfallen. As the psychic made to stand, a feeling of shame washed over the cop, making him realize that he had no reason _not_ to trust Spencer, the man having proven time and again that he would never do anything to harm Carlton, annoying though his usual antics may be. Hell, he'd even gone out of his way a time or two to ensure things had worked out for him, even though he had no reason to.

So, if he hadn't truly trusted Spencer in the past, wasn't now a good time to start?

He looked at the man and grabbed him by the chin, his thumb brushing across the psychic's lower lip as he did.

"Yes, Spencer. I trust you. Do whatever you want to do."

* * *

Shawn stilled, his eyes closed as the words washed over him, almost as if he was trying to commit the moment to memory. They opened just as quickly as they had shut, hazel orbs flashing in delight, the sentence registering.

"Can I get that in writing?" he asked, a smirk growing from where his frown had been.

"No," Carlton replied, caressing the side of the man's face, his heart fluttering in his chest when Shawn leaned into the touch. "But you should do whatever it is before we get caught or I change my mind."

Spencer let out a sigh of relief, speaking on the exhale.

"We're not gonna get caught, Lassie. This part of the building has been closed for maintenance. I checked."

"What, did you scout the place out when you got here?" the cop asked, cocking an inquisitive eyebrow.

Shawn smiled again, and Carlton's heart swelled at both the sight and the knowledge that he had put it there. Something was happening with him, something caused by what was happening here, and he didn't know why or what it was, but it felt good.

Felt right.

"Sure did," the psychic said, settling back into position between Carlton's legs. "Y'know. For just in casies."

Carlton laughed and shook his head, wondering why he was surprised before becoming distracted again, Spencer's head moving forward as his hand lightly stroked. But he didn't put his mouth anywhere near where Carlton had expected this time, instead kissing the man's knee before inching his way up his inner thigh, nipping and licking all the while.

Carlton shivered, the man's five o'clock stubble tickling just a tad, the combination of sensations making him want more. When Spencer reached higher up, where Carlton's legs became body, he applied suction, leaving a hickey where no one would see before continuing, his tongue again lashing out to lap at Lassiter's balls. But then he moved further back, and Carlton didn't know what to do with himself, the psychic giving attention to an area that had been largely ignored the detective's entire life.

He felt his pulse race at the pressure, the soft wetness of the muscle gently probing, tasting as it swirled around the center of him before it dipped slightly in, causing Carlton's legs to finally go out from under him. But Spencer held him tight, hand moving from the cop's testicles to his hip to steady him, and Carlton white-knuckled his grip on the man's hair as if it would give him strength to stand.

"It's okay, Lassie. I've got you," Spencer mumbled against soft forbidden skin, his face buried in a place Carlton never expected it would be. He placed a gentle kiss there, then another, stroking the cop a little more firmly to distract from any nerves. "I'd never hurt you."

Carlton let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding and closed his eyes and whispered -

"I know."

Suddenly Shawn stood before him, hands on both sides of the cop's face as he leaned in and kissed him with an intensity Carlton hadn't ever even imagined before, let alone experienced. His eyes flew open and his breath left him like he'd been kicked in the chest, making him wonder if every kiss he would have after this one would be compared and found wanting. He expected they would be.

After a moment that felt like luxurious days, Spencer pulled away, something stronger than lust shining in his eyes. He pressed a soft kiss on Carlton's lips – a quick peck, like the one he'd been trying for all night – before asking again;

"Do you trust me?"

Carlton looked him dead in the face, and a shiver raced up his spine as his beautiful blue eyes locked onto Spencer's haunting hazel ones, his voice more sure than it had been before.

"I trust you," he replied, feeling something shift between them so intensely it was practically palpable. And he did, he found. Even though his brain had tried to tell him otherwise, he always had.

Shawn smiled, then kissed him again.

"Good," he said, dropping back to his knees. "So, trust me when I tell you to remember to breathe."

Carlton's body clenched as he finally realized what was coming, loosening only when Spencer moved back onto his cock, his mouth sliding up and down once, twice, a third time before setting him free again.

"Relax, Lassie," the psychic said. "I only wanna make you feel good, and this will never work if you're strung tighter than a cheap guitar."

"I know," Carlton breathed again. And he did. He was just scared, even though he knew he had nothing to be afraid of. Even though he knew Spencer would take care of –

"Oh!" he moaned, feeling Spencer's middle finger slide inside him. "Ohhh!"

The psychic stopped, his other hand moving back to Carlton's shaft to stroke him, twisting his wrist at a near-impossible angle once his fingers reached the base, causing Carlton to feel a little light-headed.

"Is this okay?" he asked, and it was. It really was.

"Yeah," Carlton responded, his voice husky as he shifted slightly, feeling the finger sink knuckle-deep as he did. "Yeah, it's good."

"Good," Shawn replied. "Now just relax and enjoy. And let me know if it becomes not-good for you, k, Lassie? I just want you to feel as amazing as you are."

"Okay," Carlton replied, taking a deep breath to will his nerves away.

Spencer's finger slid forward a little more, then stopped, allowing Carlton to get used to its existence. His body constricted around it, then after a moment, he felt himself loosen up, which was when Shawn slid it back, almost removing it completely. Moaning at the loss, Carlton surprised himself, and Shawn smiled, obviously glad things were working out like he had planned.

The psychic moved his finger again, deeper this time, then curled the tip just a little, causing Carlton to groan when it brushed against what he could only assume was his prostate. He bit his lower lip when Spencer did it again, nearly drawing blood as the intensity overwhelmed him.

"You like that, Lass? That feel good?" the man asked, and from the look on his face, he was perfectly aware that it did.

Carlton just nodded dumbly, too wrapped up in sensation to speak.

"Good. Now what about this?" Shawn questioned, catching Carlton in his mouth again and using the hand that was stroking him fully to hold him in place as he sucked the cop's cock, his finger moving slowly inside.

In.

Then out.

Then in, but curled; the suction on his shaft intensifying the feeling of the man buried in his ass.

In.

Then out.

Then in again, Carlton nearly ready to weep, his body begging for more as dual sensations assaulted him simultaneously.

In.

Then out.

Then in, and –

"I – I need –" he said, struggling to speak, grasping at words as he felt his orgasm building; an orgasm that felt like it was going to blow the back of the psychic's head off. "More," he panted, his face flush and skin singing. "More."

Without stopping, Shawn added a second finger, increasing suction as his mouth moved in time, both fingers curling now with every thrust.

In, and curled.

Out.

But not for long.

In, deeper than before.

Out.

And Carlton felt like he could die.

In.

Brushing against that most sensitive of spots.

Splitting him in half in the most sinful of ways.

Carlton ground down, moving with the motions against his own volition, body taking over as Spencer played him like fiddle.

In.

Then in further, Carlton gripping Shawn's shoulder and refusing to let go, refusing to let the man's fingers leave his body as he felt himself explode.

Shawn slid down Carlton fully in that moment, face pressed to groin as his fingers danced inside the detective, wiggling and circling and scissoring; poking and prodding at the man's prostate until he turned into a puddle of incredibly sexy goo on the floor, his load shot down Shawn's throat as he crumbled, his weight resting against the man's shoulder.

The fingers slid out again, slowly. Then back in, and Carlton let out a half-wracked sob of exultation. Shawn leisurely pulled himself off the detective, then, taking his sweet time, pulled his fingers out of him, leaning forward and dipping his head to gently lick around the place he'd just vacated, placing little kisses as he went.

"You did good, Lassie. So good," he whispered, and Carlton wanted to cry, overwhelmed with feelings he'd never experienced before, only a few of which were physical. The psychic stood, shifting Carlton's body back to a fully standing position, and Carlton wondered how he even had legs left after that, let alone how he could stand on them. Realizing he couldn't, he slumped backwards, letting the wall behind him hold his weight.

"God, Lassie," Spencer started, absent-mindedly wiping his fingers on his jeans while his other hand brushed against the side of Carlton's face. "God, you are so sexy right now."

Carlton looked at him and blinked, his brain slowly being downloaded back into his body. "I… am?"

Shawn smiled at him, like a lover would smile, and Carlton realized that's exactly what he was. Or rather, what he had just become.

"Yeah, Lassie. Incredibly sexy. It should almost be illegal, how you look right now."

Carlton smirked, then looked down, his pants still at his ankles and dick hanging free. "Well, it kind of is. I mean, if I try to go anywhere like this, that is."

"Well, let's not let that happen, shall we?" Shawn said, and moved forward to help the detective up, grabbing at his chinos and bringing them to his waist. "Don't need anyone seeing you in this state but me. You're _my_ detective now."

That fluttering feeling came back, beating in Carlton's chest like a big band drumline.

Something _had_ changed, after all.

"You think so, do you?" he asked, searching the psychic's face for a reaction, hoping he would find something there. Maybe hope. Perhaps a promise. But something that meant this was more than just meaningless sex.

Shawn's smile grew wider, and he leaned in and kissed the detective one last time, claiming both his prize and the man's heart.

"I know so, Lassie. You always were," he said, and Carlton knew it was true.

"I just had to wait for you to figure it out."


End file.
